Ascension: Invocation Read online

  A S C E N S I O N :

  I n v o c a t i o n

  B R I A N R I C K M A N

  For my family; without whom, this series would have been completed long ago.

  Thanks to Kendall, Mike and Dean.

  Text copyright © 2014 Brian Rickman

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0692253144

  ISBN-10: 0692253149

  CHAPTER ONE

  A sixteen year old girl ran frantically down an empty, paved road in the foothills. The green pines and grass were a blur as she raised her hand to her face and checked the monitor she clutched tight.

  "34.666597, -87.757279"

  It was less than a mile now, but time was running out. She desperately picked up her pace as sweat stung her eyes. The black tar of the road clung to the soles of her shoes in the Alabama heat, and she could smell the jasmine on a slight breeze. It was pretty, she thought.

  "34.665741, -87.757823"

  Faster now, she made her way up an incline and felt her muscles stretch like elastic bands. In the distance, she could see a farmhouse and a pasture with horses; down the drop to her left, a creek. The yellow fog; she could taste it on her tongue. Something was wrong.

  "34.665105, -87.758338"

  She stopped. The girl fell forward, placed her hands on her knees and struggled to catch her breath. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and looked at the monitor one more time. 1:45pm. She glanced up and saw no cars before her in the distance. She spit on the road and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. The calculations were off. Perhaps she was early.

  

  At Noon, Central Standard Time, the studio monitors crackled with static and Graham began to fade the end of a John Mayer track. He placed a pause in the automation software and, for a few moments, dead air hung on the frequency. He set the volume on the board and removed his headphones. There was nothing more to do. He sank back in his chair and waited with the rest of the world.

  In the next room, formerly a production studio, a gang of men and women monitored their computer screens, documenting all activity from this point forward. They recorded the silence with precise care and watched the real-time monitors of seismic and atmospheric activity. Outside, the small town of Tuscumbia, Alabama had become a parking lot. Station vehicles representing every major media organization could be seen for miles. It was unclear why a fifty thousand watt FM radio station in Northwest Alabama had been chosen as the flagship for this broadcast, now being beamed worldwide. For the moment, however, it was the most listened to transmission in the entire universe, and as the radio-silence blanketed the airwaves, the blinking lights on its tower measured the heartbeat of every man, woman and child on the planet. Finally, a familiar voice broke through the static.

  "Good day. We thank you for your patience. It is our pleasure to be with you. Foremost, allow us to state that we mean you no harm; quite the contrary. For today begins a great evolution in your world. We bring glad tidings and offer you peace."

  With this, one could feel a great, collective relief as those huddled to hear this message grew ever calmer. The voice penetrating the air was reassuring. It was friendly, and it sounded as if it were smiling. The voice had been heard before. It had been analyzed, reversed, and synthesized. Yet, only now did the voice seem to embody a sentient, living being. Reporters that had been typing feverishly at first now stopped and simply began to listen.

  "Many of you are confused, and you do not understand. Some of you are frightened. Still others possess great confidence that may now be misplaced. Please know that these are all valid emotions. It is in your very nature to fear that which you cannot explain. Our advice to you is to go inward now. Listen. Become like a child, full of wonder. We shall explain to you the great changes taking place in your world but first your history must be atoned. Do not fear this. As we have assured you, the Dark Age is nearly complete, and today begins your reawakening."

  Graham looked outside his studio window. Amongst the crush of media, he saw pockets of citizens. He recognized a woman as one of the check-out girls at the local grocery store. She stood with her young son held close as tears streamed down her face. A man next to her knelt on the ground praying. Two men behind him stood, arms-crossed, with pistols strapped to their belts. Two teenagers sat on a blanket in the grass, holding hands. Above them all, a great tear in the sky; a deep, black rip through an otherwise blue canvas that had centered above them only days before. The voice continued.

  "As you live in a world of polarity, it must be understood that with great leaps forward come the great responsibility of knowing. Your world is poised to undertake its most profound evolution. There is no one among you with the knowledge that today will be shared. But soon, your very existence will become clear. You are on the precipice of your enlightenment. We invite you to embrace this. We will teach you the great way forward."

  No one was working now. The reporters stood motionless, and the scientists abandoned their statistics as the computers processed seemingly inconsequential data. The mild vibration that had engulfed the Earth since the rip appeared remained the only constant. It felt as if all life stood atop a purring engine, now transfixed on a hole in the sky and a disembodied voice; a vibration itself. Was this the voice of God, extra terrestrial life, a conspiracy? It didn't matter for the moment. A powerful connection seemed to overtake all humanity.

  "The genesis of your world is not for you to know today but you will understand this very soon. Know that when we speak of your world, we speak of your universe. You occupy but a small space in your vast, ever-expanding world. Your world is your very creation, but you do not remember. Fear not. In time, you will. As the Dark Age leaves you, so shall your amnesia. The planet on which you live is the womb. And just as a child has no memory of its conception, so you cannot recall your origin. Your great teachers have taught you the story of your creation. You may rest assured that these stories are rooted in truth. Have faith, for you have not been misled. Yet, your history has evolved into many stories. It is time now that all souls know their very origin."

  A cell phone rang in the distance. The voice continued.

  "You exist as one universal mind; a collective consciousness that spans your dimension. You have had among you from the beginning great, ascended masters. These masters have placed upon you the path of ascension and led you to this very moment. You have once before been in this moment. In that instance, you did fail. It is now evermore critical that you succeed. Soon you will understand. Today begins your great step forward. You will be guided, but before your new birth can begin; your world must first straighten its spine. The universe will now exhale. The Dark Age is nearly complete. You will soon be counseled further. For now, it is time for celebration! Enjoy the music."

  The message ended abruptly. Dead air. Graham instinctively rushed to the board in his studio and fired off the next song: "What I Got" by Sublime.

  "Early in the mornin'. Risin' to the street. Light me up that cigarette and I'll strap shoes on my feet..."

  Graham cringed. Somehow this song didn't seem appropriate, given the gravity of the situation. Yet it was being broadcast worldwide to millions. His heart sank with the revelation that this song would be forever remembered as the one played immediately following contact with aliens or God or whatever had been speaking to humanity only moments before. He blew it. Just as his mind began racing to think of another, perhaps more thought-provoking track, a collective roar could be heard outside the building. Graham walked to the window and watched as the world danced in celebration as it had been instructed. In a way, he thought, it was apropos.

  

  Outside, amidst the dancing revelers and within the swarm of reporters, the Alabama Na
tional Guard joined the local and state police in monitoring the crowd. Now, there were fewer of them than ever. Since the appearance of the tear, many officers and soldiers had abandoned their positions. Some left to be with their families. Some left to drink. Others left to pray. Throughout the world, this was steadily becoming an issue of concern. Despite governments urging their citizens to maintain their daily routines, in the weeks leading up to today's invocation, shops had gone vacant, and crime had increased. While it could not be said that anarchy reigned, one could sense that chaos might be only a few steps behind.

  The news media speculated as they will often do and this day would be no exception. Milan stood in a dollar store parking lot just blocks away from the radio station, staring intently at the tear in the sky. He knelt to the ground as people danced above him and he felt the Earth, the hum that now emanated from the ground and clung to air. It felt to Milan as if he were wearing a light jacket of elements, walking through a vibrating breeze. He stood up and was immediately summoned from the doorway of the dollar store.

  "Milan! Two minutes, man! Get in here!"

  It was the producer. Milan walked toward the entrance of the dollar store, which had been commandeered by the news network and made into a makeshift studio. It was the closest location they could find to "ground zero," and word was that the network had paid an incredible sum of money to broadcast their 24 hour news coverage from a position still littered with generic colas, cat litter, and dandruff shampoo. Milan excused himself amongst the dancers and made his way inside. The producer gently shoved him in the direction of the cameras. He sat down next to a gorgeous redhead, professionally attired, with flawless skin. She smiled at him as Milan attached the lapel mic to his jacket.

  "Isn't this exciting?!" she nearly giggled.

  "Yes," Milan agreed. "This... is certainly unlike anything I've ever seen."

  "Biggest news story ever and I'm on the front line," she whispered. "It's a career maker."

  Milan stared at her for a moment, but before he could respond, the on-location director began the countdown. "We're live in five... four... three..."

  "We're in a commercial break? Who's sponsoring the end of the world?" Milan wondered.

  The graphics on the screen in front of them exploded, and the music crescendoed. The anchor in Los Angeles began his solemn recap. "Just moments ago, all of humanity came face to face with an other-worldly life form, or the OWL as it has come to be known..."

  "OWL? What the fuck is OWL?" Milan thought, "And it wasn't exactly 'face to face'."

  "We're joined now by our panel of experts alongside the most trusted news team in America as we bring you this world-changing news story. We begin with Alicia Parker, joining us live in the small town of Tuscumbia, Alabama where this first contact has remarkably taken place. For starters, Alicia, what is the mood at Ground Zero?"

  The director pointed to the redhead next to Milan. Her school-girl composure suddenly evaporated as she took on the air of an accomplished professional. "Jim, right now it’s pure elation; there is a literal 'party in the streets' atmosphere as citizens of this tiny hamlet celebrate. They are dancing and singing and enjoying themselves. We're seeing this happen world-wide as the OWL suggested that all Earth's residents quote enjoy the music end quote."

  The director gave a signal and the red lights atop the cameras fixed on Alicia and Milan went out.

  "We're in a cut-away? It's a cut-away?" Alicia asked and the director nodded as she quickly reached for her bottled water, and took a drink. She then fixed herself in the monitor and straightened her jacket. On the monitor, Milan watched as the network replayed the final moments of the invocation. "You will soon be counseled further. For now, it is time for celebration! Enjoy the music."

  The monitors now segued to footage of world-wide celebrations. Italy. China. Scotland. Egypt. The red lights on the cameras lit up again. Milan and Alicia sat up straight, and the anchor posed another question.

  "So, did these alien beings travel light years to begin a worldwide dance party?" he laughed. "What is their motivation? For insight, we turn to Dr. Milan Janáček, a world renowned theoretical physicist, futurist and author. Doctor, why are the aliens here?"

  "Well, foremost, Jim, I don't think that we know that this is, in fact, contact with an extra-terrestrial life form; at least not in the Hollywood sense."

  "Expand on that, please, Doctor."

  "It seems more logical to me that what we're experiencing today is contact with a life form in another dimension. Perhaps a fifth or sixth dimension based entity. The tear that we see in the sky may, in fact, be the opening of what is known as a traversable wormhole; a tear in dimensions. This could represent contact with a parallel universe."

  "Kind of like Star Trek?" Jim asked.

  Milan took a deep breath. "Kind of like Star Trek, yes. But, again, I don't think that Hollywood has really prepared us for what we may witness going forward. What we are seeing today is unlike anything we have ever experienced in terrestrial or extra terrestrial science. It's quite remarkable."

  "I see. Let's take a listen to the speech from the OWL once more." The lights on the cameras went off, and the network began a replay of the invocation. Milan and Alicia each took a sip from their bottled water.

  "The OWL," said Alicia. "Who the hell came up with that?"

  "I know, right?" Milan smiled. He was glad to hear that the sensationalism of this important event was not lost on her.

  "It's fucking genius. Was it Anderson?" she asked the director. He shrugged.

  Or maybe not. The replay ended; red lights on. Jim, the anchor, picked up his cue. "Our military expert, Retired Colonel Patrick Nelson joins us now as well. Colonel what do you make of today's events?"

  "I can't make heads or tails out of the speech, Jim," the Colonel grumbled. "I think, without question, we have to be on guard. While it was a lot of mumbo-jumbo, I think that there was a clear indication of a threat. I don't know whether the threat is from the OWL or if they are invoking our assistance in some way to fight an outside threat. That may-"

  Milan had to interrupt the Colonel. "With all due respect, Colonel, if we have made contact with an inter-dimensional entity, it is not likely that they require our assistance."

  "How so, Doctor?" asked Jim the anchor.

  "If this entity does, in fact, occupy a parallel universe and they have found a way to make contact with us, then their intellect and technology is far superior to our own. It's not likely that we would have anything that they need."

  "The OWL mentioned a failure in our past and that we must now reconcile that failure with victory," the Colonel misquoted. "That, to me, sounds like a call to arms."

  "I don't think that's what the voice said," Milan corrected.

  Jim grabbed his notes and read aloud. "The actual quote from the OWL was 'In that instance, you did fail. It is now evermore critical that you succeed. Soon you will understand.'"

  "There was more to it than that, Jim," said Milan.

  The Colonel agreed. "There certainly was. I guess we just heard two different things. And what about this constant buzz? It feels like we're on the verge on a massive quake of some kind. We need to talk about that."

  "Colonel, the vibrations we're feeling could be the result of a dimensional tear. String theory suggests that each dimension is a string or a membrane if you will. If they have breached our 'string', it would be equivalent to plucking a note on a guitar, for example. We could be feeling the reverberations of that note being struck. That may be why they told us to enjoy the music," Milan said, giving a nod to Alicia.

  "Interesting indeed. Let's bring in our theology expert," the anchor swung around in his chair to face his new panelist. "Dr. Robert Pembrooke. What did you hear today?"

  Dr. Pembrooke paused for a moment. "I heard the voice of God. And I would suggest you stop calling Him 'Al'."

  Milan couldn't help it. He laughed out loud, on camera. Dr. Pembrooke smiled at him through the monitor as J
im quickly gave a summation and went to commercial. The red lights went out. The director gave an all clear, and the producer began to shout to the team.

  "Okay, we're done here for now, people. Let's get some new footage of the tear and the town. Milan, can I see you?" The producer walked to Milan as he removed his mic. He was anxious to get back outside. "L.A. would like for you to do more about string theory. We have something in the can that you did last year with Larry. Do you remember that?" the producer asked.

  "Faintly," Milan said as he briskly walked to the door.

  "Can you be back in an hour to talk with Jim about the advances in the theory since last year?"

  "Advances?" Milan checked his cell phone. He had no signal. It was working before he thought.

  "Yeah, like... has anyone solved it?" the producer said, his voice shaking. Milan looked up from his phone and saw the middle-aged man brush tears from his eyes with his shirt sleeve. "What's happening?" he asked, trying to catch his breath. The producer had now thoroughly broken down and was crying as silently as possible, so not to attract the attention of his staff.

  "No one really knows at the moment," Milan said, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. "But we'll figure it out. Let me see what I can find out at the site. I'll come back in about an hour, and I'll try to explain things further, okay?" The producer nodded and worked to regain his composure. "Walk outside with me," Milan told him. "Get a little air, clean yourself up. You'll be okay."

  "I can't even call my family," the producer said.

  "I'll try to see if I can make arrangements for that, okay?"

  Again, the producer nodded. Milan began to walk away toward the radio station, disappearing inside the crowd dancing now to Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al". It was ridiculous. Milan left him with that. He felt terrible. He didn't even know the producer's name.

  

  Alicia made her way past the remaining aisles of goods in the dollar store to her makeshift office, which consisted solely of a desk and her iPad. She took off her jacket and draped it across her folding chair. She checked herself in the reflection of the computer screen and tapped a key to wake it up. First stop: Facebook. She had thirty friend requests. Not bad. She updated her status. "It's a party in Tuscumbia, Alabama! Crazy here. Going to talk to the locals. Will update more details as they happen. Stay tuned to Triton! Blarrgh! Need coffee!!!"